


Cacophony

by horchatita394



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:06:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horchatita394/pseuds/horchatita394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superpowers can be a real pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cacophony

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Smythofsky Holidays Day 2. Okay this has like not massive but key backstory. I'll keep it short.
> 
> In this Universe a substantial amount of the current generation has been born with physical, mental, or elemental advanced abilities. Some private schools specialize in Ethics and Discipline courses for these young people. There are slang terms for each type of "abled" person, such as Hypers for kids who have more of a physical attribute anyone could have (like speed or flexibility) and Mentals for kids who have powers of the mind (like telepathy and telekinesis). So yeah I think that's all you need to know. Maybe I'll do something with this Universe. Maybe not. Enjoy?

I wish I had a superpower that I could show off. I’d even be tacky about it. I saw this girl on TV last week; she could make things float three feet in the air. I’m not sure how that’s at all useful but it would at least do something tangible. I don’t have a _super_ power. I don’t even consider it a power at all; it doesn’t make me powerful. It gives me migraines.

Did you know that a therapist won’t fix you if there’s nothing technically wrong with you?

_What are the voices saying?_ she asked, _do they ask you to do things?_

So I told her, I don’t hear any voices. I hear things. Chalk against asphalt and whistling and crashing ocean waves when there isn’t anything around to make that noise, only people. And damn it all, there are always people. She told my parents to take me to an audiologist. Mother thinks I’m s _ensible_ like a cannabis-addicted Wiccan or a small child. Father thinks I’m part dog. I tend to growl at my father just for the sake of show, but it’s possible my mother is right. It only took a few years of traumatizing migraines to figure out that the sound came from people, from somewhere inside them, and that only I could hear them.

Dalton Academy calls it Auditory Ideasthesia and labeled me cognitively abled, but those labels and that file are under lock and key and like most Mentals I keep my so called power to myself. Mentals are secretive about their abilities in order to better reap the benefits of subtle mind powers. I keep it to myself because it’s fucking embarrassing to say that I can hear people’s souls. That’s why most people think I’m just a jerk. The people who think this tend to carry really fucking obnoxious noises around with them so it’s not like I’m inclined to be around them anyway and it’s probably why I’m bitchy to them. Like Hummel. He constantly sounds like a cat getting fucked by a car alarm. Experience tells me it’s probably a variation of anxiety, but for the day to day I try not to be around Hummel unless I am violently drunk.

Then there are people like Blaine. Yes, Blaine is hot, but he's also really great to be around. He's relatively quiet; most of the time he sounds like rain. I can concentrate on the soft calming sounds of him even in a crowded place like the 80s boombox that is the Lima Bean. But then in comes Hummel with his cat-car alarm orgy and crashes on my relaxation. I really hate it when that happens, even though the cat porn sounds stop and turn into smooth strokes of violin as he takes Blaine's hand. I take my coffee to mask the eye rolling. The bubbling babbling brook that Blaine's rain turns into combined with Hummel’s suddenly melodic sounds are so Disney that I expect Amy Adams to pop out from behind the counter and start singing to animated verbs. Love is loud.

Then there are people like Karofsky. They’re unnerving and I yet I can’t stay away from them. He doesn’t have a sound that is his; he changes from moment to moment from fleeting emotion to fleeting thought. He’s a cacophony.

"You know that Dalton isn't for Hypers,” I tell him, “don't you Karofsky?"

He doesn’t look up from his calculus homework, not even an inch, "Go away, Sebastian."

"So I was wondering,” I say as I lean over his shoulder, “what does a public school hyper who can't afford this place do to get in here?"

Ah, look, the Hyper snapped his pencil, "Would you fuck off?"

"Did you almost kill someone or something?"

He slams the table and it rattles. I back off a few feet, "I swear to God I will put your head through this floor."

I try to ignore the harsh almost static-like sounds of heckling and abuse that stream off the boy, “So that’s it isn’t it? I thought they sent out of control Hypers to Juvie.”

He picks up his books with exaggerated gentle movements, “I thought they sent creepy invasive Mentals to asylums.”

I smile at him, I can’t help it. I laugh at him as he shoves his books straight through his backpack and just let’s them drop, abandoning them as he storms out of the common room. At least he has the good sense not to try slamming the oak door right off its hinges.

I huff out a sigh. Now, I know I complain about people and their general noise levels but silence has come to freak me out. Lack of sounds means lack of life and it bothers me just as much as obnoxious noises. I’m just about to head out to the familiar buzz of the hallways when the kid just storms right back in.

“You know, I get it, okay? This is like your weird little Mentals Sanctuary. I don’t want to be here anymore than you want to be here except. Those classes help me. Okay? I don’t freaking make my notebooks dance or read people’s minds or whatever the hell it is you do because I hate having this, I hate hurting people and breaking shit. I break everything I hurt people that I would never want to…”

I tune him out a little because his sound is …it’s indescribable. Usually when people are anxious or frustrated or otherwise upset they sound shrill and my head wants to explode but Dave sounds…

“Are you reading my fucking mind right now?!”

I shake my head, damn it I shouldn’t space out like that, “No. And would you calm down?”

“I’m calm, douchebag, if I weren’t calm you’d be a hole in the wall.”

His sound has changed again. Now it’s something between the rustle of turning pages and the muffled crash of waves on soft sand. I want to catalogue every sound and play them in my head when the silence scares me, “Can we start over?”

He looks confused. The waves grow louder than the paper, “I have a shitty power and I take it out on people.”

He looks at me like he’s hearing something that he can’t figure out as well. “Funny,” he says, “so do I.”

I smile at him, this time he can see it. He sounds like leaves in the breeze, and a soccer ball on overgrown grass and a crowd that can’t make up his mind and it makes sense somehow. His mess of sounds in my head makes sense. I cross my arms and wink at him, “Show you mine if you show me yours.”


End file.
